I wonder if a mom with MS can keep up.

There are moments as a parent with multiple sclerosis that I wonder if I’ll be able to keep up with the kids. I wonder if my inability to think fast or move fast is going to forever alter my parenting. I am sure that if a safety issue arose my adrenaline would kick in and I would be able to perform any feat to protect my children.


But I can’t protect the garbage bags. It was 2 minutes I swear. TWO MINUTES we had our heads turned while I was vacuuming the bedroom. I had set the bathroom trash bag out in the hall for pick up, (because mark helps me limit my walking so I have energy for other things) and turned to cleaning up the present mess on my floor which was trial mix. (Don’t ask)

Anyhow I turned the vacuum off and heard Aidan say something in his mad voice about toys in the trash. Then I heard plastic bag rustling. Toddlers still don’t realize that they can be located by sound. Sure they can do the creepy quiet thing. Every parent knows what I am talking about the “oh crap they’ve been too quiet too long something is being colored, broken-insert disaster here”. It is also a quiet you HAVE to respond to because what if something bad has appened?

*And for those wondering how my children can get any time ALONE –oh forbid-I have 3 children under age 5 in my house who can all walk. I have 4 bedrooms 2 ba, and yes IT is practically impossible to watch all three at the same time unless you have 3 heads, help, or you herd them all into one place and watch them like a hawk. And they will still find a way to shove a q-tip from God knows where into their nose.

How do they conjure these items? I DO clean my house and yet children can suddenly run up with an old chicken leg. It makes me feel not only amazed and repulsed but somehow lacking in my parenting skills. I mean a 5 day old chicken leg? And where did they hide it? Because I’m sure my missing keys are there.

As I was saying, it was around two minutes that the older siblings Aidan, age 4, and Abby, age 3 as of tomorrow, were supposedly playing in their room. I was vacuuming; bad start right there because it covers most sound. So when I finally heard the bag rustling and thought “oh no not the trash”, Mark did the dude thing and thought “hey sounds a like a trash bag” but didn’t rush to check on it. I did.

The trash bag itself was missing! There was a baby doll toy from some fast food place lying on the ground and a little pile of dust. A cold chill ran down my spine. Where was the rest of the bag? I slowly turned my head to the right feeling as if I were in a horror film about to see entrails of trash all over their room. There were entrails. But only a diaper, thankfully only wet one, and another small pile of dust and debris. I thanked the Ancestors for not making it worse and began to vacuum it up. Why at this point I hadn’t collared and locked up my two children, hunted them down with a flyswatter, or tried the unsuccessful time out bench, I don’t know. I just focused on the mess.

I finished vacuuming and got ready to rest. I have lost a few of my spritely abilities as I have aged and my MS progressed which including unboundless energy. So I went into the bedroom where Mark was and got ready to stretch out. Mark got up to go get a soda from the fridge and check on the two fugitives who were most likely hiding behind the couch. Suddenly I heard Mark yelling unintelligible words and sputtering. In parent speak this is not good. If you’ve lost the ability to form curse words, something BAD has happened.

I got up and walked slowly to the living room where he was vocalizing loudly at the kids in what sounded like Muppet. (I cant say screaming, it wasn't exactly that hysterical.)As I shuffled down the hall I began to notice a trail of debris. Oh no! I turned into the living room; there was the missing trash bag! And the rest of the trash. It was all over the living room carpet. It looked as if they had not only dumped it out, but slowly sorted through it to see what goodies they could find. I held back yelling in Muppet to ask the dumbest parent question in the world “Why did you do this?” I’ve discovered this is like asking a snake why they bit you. I was met with Aidan running past me ducking and Abby on the couch looking serene as if she had done nothing.

“Get the camera and then we’ll kill them!” Mark growled. Most parents would never kill their children but threaten to on a regular basis. That or selling them, giving them to the grandparents, or moving and not telling them where we went. Very good parents would never do this. But Mark and I have found that with this many we tend to lose it and use the same exact threats our parents did with us because NOTHING else has worked. So hey while we’re screwing up our kids why not do it the same way we got screwed up and make it a tradition? I mean how many times have you used the catch all “Because I said so.” You see? I’m right. When nothing else works, do what your mom and dad would do.

But our parents wouldn’t have gotten the camera. My father would have, but none of the other parents. Thinking of him lightens my mood a bit. Its okay they had an adventure, he’d say. And adventure they sure had. As I got the camera I yelled to Mark “You know aren’t we supposed to be spanking them or sending them to their room without lunch or some time out thing? As opposed to getting the camera?” He didn’t answer.

I came back to the living room with the camera and began taking shots of the destruction. Maybe we’d use it as blackmail evidence later in life. Shooting the different parts of the mess suddenly made me feel like I was on CSI photographing the evidence of a crime.
We did send them to their rooms. Mark cleaned up the big mess because there was vacuum dust in it and right now I am very allergic to house dust or dust mites. So I went back to the bedroom. Every once in awhile a head has popped out to see if they can sneak back down the hallway and I grumble at them to get back in their room.

As I sit here I am still deciding what to do.
1. We know the suspects / but we came in after the deed so we don’t know if it was a co-op or a single job.
2. We showed disapproval by yelling /but approval by getting the camera. I know what most books and magazines would say, but the children in those magazines put a tiny bit of crayon on the wall, not a mural in permanent ink and they are perfect! So what to do about my children that gutted a trash bag to examine its contents?

This time when questioned “But why?”

Aidan said “there was a toy in there”

Note to self, never throw the happy meal toys away where they can ever find them. So semi-innocent motive. Rescuing a toy.

Should we have made them clean it up? They love to vacuum. So that’s kind of a reward. Retroactive spanking especially after taking photos would be confusing and mean. So they sit in their room and we sit in ours wondering what the parenting handbook for gremlins would say. I wonder if I moved faster, I would be able to stop them. I berate myself silently for not being the perfect mom, once again. I grow silent thinking about the times I need a cane and the time when I will need a wheelchair. How will I do it all?

Well I won’t do it all. I’ll have help. That’s that stuff I hate asking for. I always feel guilty and indebted. But I’m quickly learning if I don’t ask, I might end up bound and gagged with silly string!

The grandparents (Mark’s family), friends who are, as close as, or better than family, and Mark. I will have my mate and care-partner there at the scene of the crimes, just as confused as I am, but a bit faster. I just hope we figure out what to do with them before they…now one of them is trying to open the bedroom window!! Got to go!

I HATE my body. A Rant.

I hate my body. Right now I am getting to the point where I just want to end it all because my body will never keep up with my mind. I’m sitting in my bedroom alone while my husband steam cleans the carpets. It was my job to help with the kids and getting toys out of the way.

So first thing this morning when he went to get the steam rental and breakfast, dumb Lorna decides to vacuum. Then when the vacuum plugged, I got down on the floor, using vacuum as cane, and opened it up. I spent many minutes hunched over the vacuum cleaning out the c.log. (This by the way was baby bottle nipple and tissue. How our vacuum sucked up a baby bottle nipple is beyond me. I’m suspecting foul nipple play from the children. You know one of them thought it would be fun to see if they could suck it up with the hose.)

Foul nipples aside, I finished clearing the clog and went back to standing and vacuuming my bedroom. If there is one room in the house I like to be at least partially put together it is my bedroom. For Mark it is his kitchen. I say “his” kitchen because if it were mine we’d have to give it a name suitable to my MS type of cooking like “The Fire Pit” or “The Lost Potatoes.”

So I was vacuuming. Then I got a stitch n my side. I figured it was 1. Exercise with the vacuum when I am still recovering from running the wine booth for MS MOMS at the renaissance faire last weekend, or 2. It’s because I have an empty stomach and sometimes that can give pain.I stopped cleaning and do what Good Lorna does. She lay face down on the bed and took deep breaths waiting for the side pain to go away. It worsened. Soon I could no longer roll over, nor lift up to my knees. Mark was not home yet and the kids were beginning to act up.Panic began to set in. How could I care for the children when I was now in so much pain upon moving, I couldn’t sit up? Aidan came toddling in just as I heard what IO thought was the front door and Mark.

“Mommy’s hurt. Go get Daddy.” He responded instantly running off to get this father. He came back with no Mark.“Daddy not here.”
“Check the garage.”
“Otay!” Off he ran. At this point I was wondering why this pain was not subsiding and why when I tried to roll or sit up the pain spread from my side into my back and belly. Aidan came back in. “Daddy not here.” I took a deep sigh which I hoped would release the tension and therefore the pain. It hurt to breathe. Now I’m panting and getting close to tears. “I take care of you.”Aidan says next to me. I cry and nod.

He pounces on my back. I scream. I cursed and in my best impression of a werewolf in severe pain I tried NOT to bite my son, and then cried some more. It was decision time. Do I call 911 and go to the hospital? It could be something serious. I not only have secondary progressive multiple sclerosis but I am also recovering from taking an immune suppressant (methotrexate) that did so well I kept catching bug after bug after bug. Maybe I have another kidney infection that has gone bad. Maybe I truly hurt something inside.

But then, what if I call, sit in the ER for 8 hours to be told I am sore from coughing or vacuuming. I hated being treated like a hypochondriac or being sent home with “it’s your MS.” I would wait.And wait.When Mark came home with donuts and a steam cleaner, I was lying face down on the bed crying and hyperventilating from pain and panic. Mark was very gentle in asking what was wrong and there was so much pain that radiated when I tried to move we could not pinpoint the cause. Was it nerves? Muscles? Something deeper inside?

I told Mark to give me my morphine. In my mind this is what they do at the ER when you are in excruciating pain and cannot pinpoint it. They get you out of pain and then talk.Mark finally relented after about 15 mins when it was obvious the pain was not leaving and in fact worsening. 15 minutes after that I rolled to my side and was free of pain. So did good Lorna respect that her body was worn out and there was little cleaning she could do to help her husband?Nope. I got up. As I was going about the house I started coughing. A deep barking cough that kept surprising me when it happened. But the coughing fits got worse and worse. I would blow my nose repeatedly trying to breathe through the nose and not the mouth which would aggravate the throat/chest. My nose was running so I could not breathe through it. (Smooth moves all that sobbing. It gives you a headache, puffy eyes, and you can’t breathe through your nose for hours!)

So now I am covered in a cold clammy sweat from coughing so long and hard as I crawled around on the kids’ floor picking up toys. They were helping of course, which meant every toy needed to be inspected and tested to ensure its kid approval before it was put away. Finally, I could no longer hold on. I was not in pain, I was dizzy. I was coughing up my lung or trying to. I wondered if the morphine making the pain stop triggered some sort of bronchial spasm. Whatever it was causing the cough I couldn’t stop, I was sweating, and knew that I was being just plain dumb.

Besides not being able to scold the kids because it starts a 5 minute coughing spell, is very annoying and cramps my parenting style which is for them to slowly drive me crazy while my body gives out.In the end after my instance, Mark called his father to come help watch kids, while I rest and he cleans. I hate needing to rest. I hate being told to rest. I hate that for some reason (probably the hot mint tea w/ honey and codeine cough syrup) I had stopped coughing by the time Grandpa came over.

Here I am. My back is beginning to hurt again as I write this. I’m still exhausted from LAST weekend on my feet. I am watching myself shuffle, need a cane more, wear out by 1pm instead of 4pm. Now there is sharp shooting pain down my right arm. Call the doctor? Why so I can sit and wait to be told “It’s your MS, here is cough syrup and pain meds, go home.” I got my meds. I don’t need another doctor from UC Davis looking at me like I’m a freak when I come in and NOTHING shows up on the chem. or examination. I just need to finish ranting and go back to bed. Like a good disabled woman. I hate being good. Sometimes the MS/cold/flu/stress wins.

And some days they lose. Tomorrow is another day and another chance to kick auto-immune butt.